Second son
by Nesta
Summary: Here I have saddled Faramir with a rather wayward offspring. Uncanonical but faithful to the spirit of the book, I hope.


Second son

_In this I have landed Faramir with a rather difficult offspring, Túrin, who is much younger than his brother Elboron. Túrin would be about twelve when this story takes place. Fíriel is their sister, and Morwen was her nurse. That's all you need to know. _

'You had better see this, father.'

Elboron had a tight grip on Túrin's arm; Túrin, ostentatiously unresisting, was making it insultingly clear that the tightness of his brother's grip was a mere expression of anger. In his other hand Elboron carried a sack, obviously heavy, tied at the neck. He set Túrin down in front of me, with enough force to bring him to his knees but not enough to hurt; he held on to the sack.

'I found him by pure chance, in the woods, down towards the old Crossroads. I pray no one else saw him before I did. When I saw he what he was doing with … these … I brought him straight back.'

He untied the sack, and with an expression of loathing, tipped out its contents.

Bones. Unquestionably human, and with them, two skulls.

Túrin glanced at them, and then looked up at his brother with a blaze of defiant indignation. 'They're mine,' he said. 'I found them. They're mine.'

'What do you mean, you…' began Elboron, but meeting my eye, fell silent.

'I'll look into this, Elboron,' I said, suppressing a sigh. 'You have done your part.'

Elboron looked from me to Túrin, shook his head helplessly, and went out.

The origin of the bones was easy to guess. In the last days before Ithilien was abandoned to the Enemy, and afterwards when we kept a fighting force there, there were many deaths and few burials. In the early years after the War, settlers were constantly coming across these poor anonymous relics, and arranging their disposal was a recurring task. The sad discoveries had become rarer in recent years, but not so rare that Túrin's find caused me any surprise. It was Elboron's reaction that was disquieting, for he generally treated his difficult younger brother with good-humoured toleration.

'Túrin, what were you doing with these poor bones, that made Elboron so angry?'

'Clearing away the undergrowth, looking for them. Looking _at_ them. Collecting the best ones, to bring home. No one else knows about them. No one else wants them. They're mine.'

'I should say they belonged rather to their late owners.'

Túrin, still kneeling but with no air of humility, turned his dark, resentful gaze on me.

'Bones are part of bodies. The bodies of men are only the houses of their spirits. When the spirit departs the house crumbles, because it isn't needed any more. You _said _so.'

He was right, of course. I had said something of the sort, to comfort Fíriel after Morwen's death, when I had no idea Túrin was listening. You could seldom tell whether he was listening to you or not, even when you spoke to him directly.

'That may be true, but the remains of the house must be honoured, because the presence of the spirit has hallowed it. Men are not like beasts, that die and are forgotten. Though even some of our beasts have been honoured with graves.'

Túrin ignored this, or rather, answered obliquely, as he so often did.

'I need them. I can learn from them. You tell me it's good to watch and think and learn. Living people serve you. Why should not the dead serve me?'

I tried another tack.

'Elboron was right to hope that no one else saw you down there. Do you realise what people would say of you, if they thought you were dishonouring the dead?'

'I don't care.'

'Well, I do!' I strove to keep the anger out of my voice. The debate was taking the usual course. In a moment I would be forbidding Túrin to continue with his charnel-house activities, and he would say 'Yes, father' in his patient, scornful way, and take whatever punishment I dealt out, and go off to think of some ingenious way of circumventing my command.

_You would still have done just so … It is long since you turned from your own way at my council._

There must be a way of breaking this circle. I must learn to see things from his point of view.

'You say you learn from these bones. Tell me what you have learned.'

He brightened instantly. 'May I get up? May I touch the bones? I can't show you otherwise.'

I nodded, and Túrin began to rummage among the bones like a child going through its toybox. I repressed a shudder. How long had he been doing this sort of thing?

'Look at these. These bones here all belonged to one man. He was very tall – look at the length of his thigh-bone. I think he must have been broad and strong, too. The bones are thick. I think the larger of these two skulls belonged to the same man. It's one of our people. Haradrim skulls are a different shape, you can see that even in life. And so are orc skulls, of course.' He picked the larger skull up. The jawbone was still attached, sagging horribly as Túrin lifted the skull. He held it out to me, one hand supporting the jaw, the other holding the mouth open in a nightmare gape.

'Look at his teeth. The front ones are all right, but look at the back ones - here, and here. They're all rotten. He must have had terrible toothache. Why didn't he have the bad teeth pulled, I wonder?'

And then I knew.

He was tall, broad and heavy, surprisingly so for a Ranger; they are mostly lightly built, so they can move swiftly and silently through the woods. Despite his bulk, he could move like a dancer – the effect was almost comical. But there was nothing comical about him in battle. He was quite fearless, except for one thing.

_Why don't you have the bad teeth pulled, Hallagrim?_

_Shall we do it for you, Hal? Ten men to hold you down, and another ten to pull on the string?_

_Send Hal on ahead, the stench of his breath would kill an army of orcs._

_You'll never be able to eat that, however small you cut it. We'll have to feed you on slops, like my old grandfather. _

And Hallagrim would grunt amiably in acknowledgement of their teasing, and nurse his throbbing cheek, and if he realised I was nearby, turn and wink at me. He was my mainstay, and he knew it.

One day he went out on patrol with four men, and they never came back. I remember the others, that evening, chewing on their hard strips of meat, in silence.

We never found out what happened to him.

Túrin turned the skull over. 'And here's what killed him.' He pointed to a ragged hole. 'An axe, probably, from behind. It must have been a tall man who struck him, or maybe an uruk. I think he was already wounded – here's a rib, see, and it's notched. He was stabbed. I can't be sure that it was done at the same time, but most likely it was, and if so he'd have lost a lot of blood. I don't think he was taken by surprise, I think he died fighting. If Elboron had given me time to look at the others, I could tell you how they died too. There were only two skulls, but there were more bones than two bodies would account for. Perhaps the enemy took the other heads. There were no weapons, nothing, the bodies were stripped. Maybe the enemy took away their own dead, I don't know. I was going to look further, but Elboron stopped me.'

His sulkiness was gone. He looked at me, smiling, seeking – no, claiming – my approval.

_It is long since you turned from your own way. _

He must go his own way.

'I'll make a bargain with you, Master Túrin,' I said. 'These bones, and the others you left behind, must be brought back, and have honourable burial, but before that - ' I held up a hand to silence his instant protest – 'you may examine them, with reverence, as much as you wish, and you will tell me what you have learned, so that the dead may speak, even from the ruins of their houses. And when next you seek for learning in strange places, you will tell me first. Is it a bargain?'

He nodded emphatically. I held out my hand, and he shook it briefly, and I let him go. He left Hallagrim with me.


End file.
